Oh, the adventures of the waiting room.
I finally recognized that I was the recipient of an neverending cold. When I breathed, the exotic sound of some yet to be invented musical instrument softly wafted from my lungs, to the accompaniment of the sweet snores of my aging rabbit hound. My head valiantly struggled to search out the horizontal, when I made any attempt to be at all vertical. My head felt like a pair of 7 1/2 feet shoved into a pair of size six shoes. There were no signs of improvement.
I knew I was in trouble, when as an act of energy saving, my energy, I opted to put a couple of extra blankets on my bed for the cold night; rather than put some logs in the stove downstairs.
When morning arrived, I decided to take myself to the nearby clinic, rather than taking my collection of non life threatening germs to my more distant doctor.
I was clean and brushed my teeth but I am not sure my hair met a comb, and frankly I could have cared less. I parked my car in the lot and passed through the double glass doors into a large, clean waiting room. This room was deceptively uncrowded.
The building had once been a community hospital, a place of pride for the surrounding rural communities. The plaques that honoured the long ago supporters covered a wall - "This room was furnished by the children of King's County", ''In loving memory of my dear Aunt and Uncle, "A Gift from Dr. Killam and his wife of Woodville". This hospital is now a clinic, much appreciated, much needed, much used. No more births, no more life saving operations and hopefully no deaths.
The impressive Valley Regional Hospital, with the bells and whistles of modern medicine is farther down the highway.
Even more impressive than the plaques, are the two very large bronze wall pieces struck with the names of the young men who died in battle when they were called to serve King and Country in the 1914-1918 War, the 1939-1945 War and the Korean War. There are over a hundred names. The names are the same names as those who are waiting their turn to see the doctor. The waits are sometimes long and the care is good. I think "the Boys" would be proud
After registering with my attractive sea themed, Nova Scotia Health Card, I took my seat, sat back and let my head droop. I observed what was going on around me, through a not unpleasant haze. An eleven year old boy wearing his hockey jacket with Goalie proudly embroidered on the sleeve, sat with his attractive, relaxed mother to have his leg, until recently encased in a cast, checked out. A sweet little four year old boy in his Star Wars pj's, jacket and snow boots leaned lovingly against his daddy's girlfriend's shoulder. A somewhat haughty politician tried to keep away from the others, perhaps thinking her germs were somewhat superior to our germs. A blonde bombshell, in her faux fur coat who had likely put in fifty years of hard living kicked the beverage machine. The very elderly, frail, farmer, who was unceremoniously dumped in the room by his equally aged wife was given instructions by her not to come out until the wax was out of his ears. The many small children with earaches, full chests and sore throats waited patiently flopped in their mothers arms. A thirteen year old girl slouched in her chair exuding disdain for everything as only a sick young teen can do.
The reading material was weak, The Joys of Menopause, Fun with the Canada Food Rules, What Does Your Man Know About His Prostate?, How to Cough into Your Arm.
The wait was not short.
Oh well. My turn came. My symptoms were noted, my nose was explored and my face was prodded. Before too long I was off to the drugstore to pick up a miracle cure for tender sinuses. As I drove home, up over the mountain to the shore, I still felt lousy, but also thankful I could feel lousy in this tiny piece of the universe.
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Mothers to Be, in Japan
Being pregnant was being pregnant. Pregnancy was neither an overwhelmingly positive experience nor an unpleasant experience. There is something a little trendy about the mystique of the famous baby bumps. I don't deny the miracle that is taking place, but pregnancy is only the beginning.
Pregnancy was, however, the beginning of motherhood that has brought such incredible richness and deeper understanding of life and living to me. Motherhood is not the only way a woman experiences richness and understanding. I am just saying for me, being a mother through the fun, the challenges, the heartbreaks, the sometimes relentless fatigue and the sheer joy, gave something to me for which there are no words. For sure, if I had it to do over again, there are many, many things I would do differently; but I do know I gave it my best and I gave it with love. I became a mother in a good time, in a good place.
My heart is breaking now for the pregnant women in Japan. Little bits of humanity are growing in their bellies, as the mothers walk through a terrifying inferno of so many dimensions. They live in a country whose people know the legacy of atomic radiation, like no other. They and their babies face dark times.
From my beautiful little place of the universe, I wish for them hope and the world's resources to help fulfill their hopes, to live in health in the goodness of creation, that offers them opportunities, to once again know joy.
Pregnancy was, however, the beginning of motherhood that has brought such incredible richness and deeper understanding of life and living to me. Motherhood is not the only way a woman experiences richness and understanding. I am just saying for me, being a mother through the fun, the challenges, the heartbreaks, the sometimes relentless fatigue and the sheer joy, gave something to me for which there are no words. For sure, if I had it to do over again, there are many, many things I would do differently; but I do know I gave it my best and I gave it with love. I became a mother in a good time, in a good place.
My heart is breaking now for the pregnant women in Japan. Little bits of humanity are growing in their bellies, as the mothers walk through a terrifying inferno of so many dimensions. They live in a country whose people know the legacy of atomic radiation, like no other. They and their babies face dark times.
From my beautiful little place of the universe, I wish for them hope and the world's resources to help fulfill their hopes, to live in health in the goodness of creation, that offers them opportunities, to once again know joy.
Sunday 13 March 2011
Umbrellas, Mushrooms, Clouds - Radiation
Umbrellas, mushrooms and clouds can conjure up an image of an early fall stroll, on a damp day, in the country.
Umbrellas, mushrooms, clouds, can also instantly call up terrifying images of a world gone wrong.
My generation, of Canadians, grew up under the "nuclear umbrella" of the United States. We were and are a nuclear weapon free country. We do possess a little moral authority, as we have no weapons of mass destruction here, by choice. We have the uranium, the expertise but not the will as a people, to join that dangerous atomic club.
The comfort of living under the American umbrella, at times isn't all that comforting. The big boys don't always play by the rules. There we are lying, in all our naked glory, between the world's most aggressive powers. Where do you think the mighty missiles would land, as missiles surged from the Russian north over our home and native land, towards the mainland states and in return whizzed back at Russia. The "nuclear umbrella" would be as useful as my little, pink, silk parasol. Thank goodness that war was cold.
The sight of a towering, threatening force of destruction growing in moments into a billowing mushroom monster still fills me with fear. Not one city, but two Japanese cities were melted, people and all, to bring an end to the Second World War. We watched reel after reel of the events between the cartoons and cowboy pictures at the Saturday Matinees at the Roxy.
Then came the films of the above ground testing, in the American desserts, as the arms raced. Radio broadcasts alerted us to the ripples of radiation that circled out from the blasts to cover the world with teeny tiny drops of destruction that became radiated rain. This was when we really needed the umbrellas, but they were not forthcoming.
Oh, the clouds. I was lucky enough to be passing through Three Mile Island, Pennsylvania on my way from Toronto to Washington, during the partial meltdown at their nuclear plant. I was in France when Chernobyl blew. I wanted nothing of threatening clouds moving this way and that. Something is wrong.
Japan, the country that has suffered most from mushrooms, umbrellas and clouds, up close, chose to harness the power of the atom for peaceful purposes- clean energy, miracles of medicine and uses as yet unimagined. Look what is happening.
Today, the peoples of the world wait as one, to hear the news of human failure to control the uncontrollable in their land. Great minds of the world are focussed on solving a crucial puzzle. Our hearts are with the Japanese and fear is with us as a cloud will pass over each one of us.
I think I'll go check the medicine cabinet to see if I still have those tiny iodine pills that were purchased in what seemed more dangerous times.
Umbrellas, mushrooms, clouds, can also instantly call up terrifying images of a world gone wrong.
My generation, of Canadians, grew up under the "nuclear umbrella" of the United States. We were and are a nuclear weapon free country. We do possess a little moral authority, as we have no weapons of mass destruction here, by choice. We have the uranium, the expertise but not the will as a people, to join that dangerous atomic club.
The comfort of living under the American umbrella, at times isn't all that comforting. The big boys don't always play by the rules. There we are lying, in all our naked glory, between the world's most aggressive powers. Where do you think the mighty missiles would land, as missiles surged from the Russian north over our home and native land, towards the mainland states and in return whizzed back at Russia. The "nuclear umbrella" would be as useful as my little, pink, silk parasol. Thank goodness that war was cold.
The sight of a towering, threatening force of destruction growing in moments into a billowing mushroom monster still fills me with fear. Not one city, but two Japanese cities were melted, people and all, to bring an end to the Second World War. We watched reel after reel of the events between the cartoons and cowboy pictures at the Saturday Matinees at the Roxy.
Then came the films of the above ground testing, in the American desserts, as the arms raced. Radio broadcasts alerted us to the ripples of radiation that circled out from the blasts to cover the world with teeny tiny drops of destruction that became radiated rain. This was when we really needed the umbrellas, but they were not forthcoming.
Oh, the clouds. I was lucky enough to be passing through Three Mile Island, Pennsylvania on my way from Toronto to Washington, during the partial meltdown at their nuclear plant. I was in France when Chernobyl blew. I wanted nothing of threatening clouds moving this way and that. Something is wrong.
Japan, the country that has suffered most from mushrooms, umbrellas and clouds, up close, chose to harness the power of the atom for peaceful purposes- clean energy, miracles of medicine and uses as yet unimagined. Look what is happening.
Today, the peoples of the world wait as one, to hear the news of human failure to control the uncontrollable in their land. Great minds of the world are focussed on solving a crucial puzzle. Our hearts are with the Japanese and fear is with us as a cloud will pass over each one of us.
I think I'll go check the medicine cabinet to see if I still have those tiny iodine pills that were purchased in what seemed more dangerous times.
Wednesday 9 March 2011
Photos Never Taken
Some of my favourite photos are photos never taken.
Perhaps my favourite phantom picture is my mind's picture of my baby daughter, picking the moon out of the silver maple tree.
The night was very cold and very clear. The stars sparkled.
I held her tightly, as I got out of the car, in those days before seat belts.
Fuzzy, white, warm, buttoned jacket; thick, lined, navy blue pants; snow boots that were always falling off; pom pommed hat, scarf and mittens, the colour of sunset, I knit in my knitting days.
The night was crisply magical. The moon was full. My daughter's cheeks were rosy and her eyes shone. She was a long way from two and she reached for the moon with her pudgy hand. I gave it to her forever.
t
Perhaps my favourite phantom picture is my mind's picture of my baby daughter, picking the moon out of the silver maple tree.
The night was very cold and very clear. The stars sparkled.
I held her tightly, as I got out of the car, in those days before seat belts.
Fuzzy, white, warm, buttoned jacket; thick, lined, navy blue pants; snow boots that were always falling off; pom pommed hat, scarf and mittens, the colour of sunset, I knit in my knitting days.
The night was crisply magical. The moon was full. My daughter's cheeks were rosy and her eyes shone. She was a long way from two and she reached for the moon with her pudgy hand. I gave it to her forever.
t
Eat Local. Eat Like the Queen.
Eat local. Eat like the Queen. My friend says she can get all she needs to eat on her bicycle.
That may not seem impressive to urban dwellers, who can purchase their food at local stores. It is a little more impressive that my friend lives on a dirt road in rural Nova Scotia, miles from a local store. Like most of our neighbours, her food is predominantly organic. There is honey, goats milk, maple sugar, free range chickens, free range turkeys, grass fed beef, fresh eggs sold at farm doorsteps, organic fruits and vegetables filling freezers and served from the mismatched plates all around us. Nova Scotian women "put up" the abundance of summer and rejoice in their goodness throughout the winter.
Wild raspberries, spray free, hand picked strawberries, currants, blue berries, homemade jams, apples too many to name, with names our great grandmothers would recognize.
Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes
In the fall squash, potatoes, onions, carrots, a rainbow of cabbages, parsnips, turnips stored in the cool.
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins. Fields of pumpkins.
October is our time of thanks giving.
As I stand hanging out my clothes, yes, in the ocean breeze, I watch the fishing boats come into the harbour at high tide, bringing scallops, haddock, mackeral, mussels...and lobster. Down the hill I can buy their fresh catch. Dulse is a local snack food, but I don't partake.
I no longer ride a bicycle. I drive my beloved aged, ailing, Ford truck to my favourite market about thirty miles away. Everything is there, that I can't buy nearby my home, with my loonies and toonies. I buy my bread at the Mennonite bakery.
Saturday market is a weekly celebration of friends, food, creations and music.
An old, brick apple storage warehouse is being converted for winter use, so goodbye to the cramped winter space, generously made available in Acadia University Students Building.
So what about the Queen?
When the Queen visited Nova Scotia last year The Halifax Herald, the provincial paper, published where the ingredients for the Royal Dinner had been purchased. There was cheese from Foxhill, meat from Meadowbrook, grass fed beef from Wolfeville Market, vegetables from local farmers and lobsters from our sea. The wine came from the Annapolis Valley. I don't know whether they chose an organic wine or not.
I can't remember what was for dessert, who cares? I know where to get real gelato and real ice cream.
So, they shop for the Queen where I shop for my table. Nothing comes with Royal Seals, but it certainly comes with my approval.
That may not seem impressive to urban dwellers, who can purchase their food at local stores. It is a little more impressive that my friend lives on a dirt road in rural Nova Scotia, miles from a local store. Like most of our neighbours, her food is predominantly organic. There is honey, goats milk, maple sugar, free range chickens, free range turkeys, grass fed beef, fresh eggs sold at farm doorsteps, organic fruits and vegetables filling freezers and served from the mismatched plates all around us. Nova Scotian women "put up" the abundance of summer and rejoice in their goodness throughout the winter.
Wild raspberries, spray free, hand picked strawberries, currants, blue berries, homemade jams, apples too many to name, with names our great grandmothers would recognize.
Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes
In the fall squash, potatoes, onions, carrots, a rainbow of cabbages, parsnips, turnips stored in the cool.
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins. Fields of pumpkins.
October is our time of thanks giving.
As I stand hanging out my clothes, yes, in the ocean breeze, I watch the fishing boats come into the harbour at high tide, bringing scallops, haddock, mackeral, mussels...and lobster. Down the hill I can buy their fresh catch. Dulse is a local snack food, but I don't partake.
I no longer ride a bicycle. I drive my beloved aged, ailing, Ford truck to my favourite market about thirty miles away. Everything is there, that I can't buy nearby my home, with my loonies and toonies. I buy my bread at the Mennonite bakery.
Saturday market is a weekly celebration of friends, food, creations and music.
An old, brick apple storage warehouse is being converted for winter use, so goodbye to the cramped winter space, generously made available in Acadia University Students Building.
So what about the Queen?
When the Queen visited Nova Scotia last year The Halifax Herald, the provincial paper, published where the ingredients for the Royal Dinner had been purchased. There was cheese from Foxhill, meat from Meadowbrook, grass fed beef from Wolfeville Market, vegetables from local farmers and lobsters from our sea. The wine came from the Annapolis Valley. I don't know whether they chose an organic wine or not.
I can't remember what was for dessert, who cares? I know where to get real gelato and real ice cream.
So, they shop for the Queen where I shop for my table. Nothing comes with Royal Seals, but it certainly comes with my approval.
Sunday 6 March 2011
Signs of a Possible Spring
Signs of a Possible Spring near Lupin Hill
1. Pot holes filled with water offer swimming possibilities.
2. Hip boys donning shorts at freezing temperatures.
3. Dreams of asparagus
4. Undone fall chores emerge from melting snow drifts.
5. Double-lined mitts no longer mandatory.
6. Thoughts of lawn mowing with celebratory beer with neighbour.
7. Urge to clear front porch and bring out wicker chairs.
8. Packets of seeds at the feed store.
9. Farmers spreading manure on the snow covered fields.
10. Willows turn yellow.
11. Everyone in mandatory green rubber boots.
12. It is light past six o'clock.
13. The sun is setting farther and farther north.
14. Winter coats are on SALE.
15. It is possible to forget to wear a hat.
16. Then there is the emerging dog poop.
17. People are talking of summer plans.
18.Shore walks are more appealing.
19. Fishermen and women begin to work on boats.
20. Rocks fall from cliffs.
21. Residents sigh because it looks like their dry wood will hold out.
22. Crows are beak to beak on the hydro lines.
23. Cottagers are checking to make sure their places survived winter.
24. All footwear brings in mud.
25. Pussy willows hint of emergence.
26. Where were the daffodils planted last planted last fall?
27. Signs advise it's time to place chick orders.
28. The maple syrup buckets are coming out.
29. Christmas displays are being pried from the melting ground.
30. Snowmobile sounds are disappearing.
31. Walking stick pics are being covered by black rubber caps.
32. Crowds are forming around the paint displays at hardware stores.
33. Thoughts of ice cream cones are not ridiculous.
34 Whew. Winter tires made it.
35. Touques are replaced by baseball caps.
36. The windows can be opened more than a crack for fresh air.
37. Little boys are on their bikes.
38. All await the news of the first robin.
1. Pot holes filled with water offer swimming possibilities.
2. Hip boys donning shorts at freezing temperatures.
3. Dreams of asparagus
4. Undone fall chores emerge from melting snow drifts.
5. Double-lined mitts no longer mandatory.
6. Thoughts of lawn mowing with celebratory beer with neighbour.
7. Urge to clear front porch and bring out wicker chairs.
8. Packets of seeds at the feed store.
9. Farmers spreading manure on the snow covered fields.
10. Willows turn yellow.
11. Everyone in mandatory green rubber boots.
12. It is light past six o'clock.
13. The sun is setting farther and farther north.
14. Winter coats are on SALE.
15. It is possible to forget to wear a hat.
16. Then there is the emerging dog poop.
17. People are talking of summer plans.
18.Shore walks are more appealing.
19. Fishermen and women begin to work on boats.
20. Rocks fall from cliffs.
21. Residents sigh because it looks like their dry wood will hold out.
22. Crows are beak to beak on the hydro lines.
23. Cottagers are checking to make sure their places survived winter.
24. All footwear brings in mud.
25. Pussy willows hint of emergence.
26. Where were the daffodils planted last planted last fall?
27. Signs advise it's time to place chick orders.
28. The maple syrup buckets are coming out.
29. Christmas displays are being pried from the melting ground.
30. Snowmobile sounds are disappearing.
31. Walking stick pics are being covered by black rubber caps.
32. Crowds are forming around the paint displays at hardware stores.
33. Thoughts of ice cream cones are not ridiculous.
34 Whew. Winter tires made it.
35. Touques are replaced by baseball caps.
36. The windows can be opened more than a crack for fresh air.
37. Little boys are on their bikes.
38. All await the news of the first robin.
Wednesday 2 March 2011
Elephants In Rooms
These are the things I know about elephants. Elephants are enormous. Jumbo was hit by a train and killed in St. Thomas, Ontario. Bracelets made of elephant tail hair were worn around wrists in the 1960's to bring good luck. They have long memories. Elephants mourn their dead. They have long trunks. Elephants are often slaughtered for their ivory tusks. I probably know a little bit more, but this will do for now.
Oh yes, elephants often plunk themselves down in the middle of conversations and nobody seems to notice them. With a few exceptions, I have never been very good at not noticing.
I can remember going to a wedding/baby shower for a neighbourhood girl, when I was about ten. This was in the 1950's when such things were rare. As I remember, the women in the room were somewhat uncomfortable. I piped up that I thought the plan was supposed to be making babies was a post marriage activity. The women became far more uncomfortable. I realized there was an elephant in the room that I was not to acknowledge.
Among my friends in childhood, either there were few elephants around or I don't remember them.
High school was another story. High school life was fraught with sensitivities that made for many secrets meant to be discussed with only closest friends. I bumped into several elephants without trying, but no one seemed aghast as that sort of thing was recognized as one of my weaknesses. There was no ill intent.
Adulthood was another story. I became more and more ticked by the list of things that were not to be discussed in genteel society. To be honest, I couldn't always tell when noticing was inappropriate. The phrases "Tell it like it is. ", "Let it all hang out." and "Be real." were meant to be preached not practised.
So here I am at the beginning of my golden years. The drunks don't drink. There is no problem that can be imagined as they set out in their cars on icy, winter roads.
This is not about privacy. An elephant in a room is an elephant in a room. Refusing to see the elephants takes so much energy and can sometimes be dangerous.
Besides too many elephants in one room doesn't leave much room for anything else and elephants can get mighty smelly.
Oh yes, elephants often plunk themselves down in the middle of conversations and nobody seems to notice them. With a few exceptions, I have never been very good at not noticing.
I can remember going to a wedding/baby shower for a neighbourhood girl, when I was about ten. This was in the 1950's when such things were rare. As I remember, the women in the room were somewhat uncomfortable. I piped up that I thought the plan was supposed to be making babies was a post marriage activity. The women became far more uncomfortable. I realized there was an elephant in the room that I was not to acknowledge.
Among my friends in childhood, either there were few elephants around or I don't remember them.
High school was another story. High school life was fraught with sensitivities that made for many secrets meant to be discussed with only closest friends. I bumped into several elephants without trying, but no one seemed aghast as that sort of thing was recognized as one of my weaknesses. There was no ill intent.
Adulthood was another story. I became more and more ticked by the list of things that were not to be discussed in genteel society. To be honest, I couldn't always tell when noticing was inappropriate. The phrases "Tell it like it is. ", "Let it all hang out." and "Be real." were meant to be preached not practised.
So here I am at the beginning of my golden years. The drunks don't drink. There is no problem that can be imagined as they set out in their cars on icy, winter roads.
This is not about privacy. An elephant in a room is an elephant in a room. Refusing to see the elephants takes so much energy and can sometimes be dangerous.
Besides too many elephants in one room doesn't leave much room for anything else and elephants can get mighty smelly.
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